


Stars

by puddinghead



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Freeform, Introspection, M/M, Poetic, but i think it speaks for itself, i'm a huge gushy romantic sap don't look at me ever, this is a drabble that just spilled out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 11:17:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5002705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puddinghead/pseuds/puddinghead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tsukishima looked up at the night sky, he saw stars.  People called them cosmic, celestial, otherworldly — he called them cold.</p><p>When Tsukishima looked at Yamaguchi, he also saw stars.  But these were warm, and tangible, and beautiful in a way that he couldn’t well describe in all the words in his vast vocabulary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stars

**Author's Note:**

> The concept of Yamaguchi and stars has been done so much -- often so wonderfully -- and I haven't found the right way to express it myself until now. I hope you guys enjoy it, whether you find that it says a lot or says nothing at all.

When Tsukishima looked up at the night sky, he saw stars.  People called them cosmic, celestial, otherworldly — he called them cold.

When Tsukishima looked at Yamaguchi, he also saw stars.  But these were warm, and tangible, and beautiful in a way that he couldn’t well describe in all the words in his vast vocabulary.

He saw galaxies on his cheeks and nose that expanded and collapsed with every laugh, every word, every breath.  The Milky Way burned red with excitement, pink splayed around its stippled edges; dimmed to darkness and blended brown with stern agitation; paled and prickled like pin pricks in shock.  Sometimes, it faded into near-achromatism, as if shadowed by unwanted clouds, and he waited miserably for the stars to shine again, because he didn’t know how to control the weather.

He saw constellations and asterisms on the arcs of his arms, forms and figures that danced between thin hairs and bruises, each with their own unknown mythology.  Vega blinked at him from its fixed seat at the Summer Triangle, promising the balance that he had come to rely on, which the sky above couldn’t give.  There were two hemispheres at once, four seasons, 24 hours, without the uncertainty of change.

He saw flares in his eyes, bright bursts of brilliance that blinded him beyond words, sparkling in their own special suns.  They didn’t need light to shine, because their own radiance was immeasurable and impossible, and incredible, and invaluable.  And when they pierced his own gaze, he shuddered, and he felt the magnitude of a million lightyears rend his heart to pieces and mend it in infinite divinity in one resplendent ray.

Yamaguchi’s stars were unique.

Tsukishima loved them, and he trusted them more than he trusted himself.  Because when he would look at the night sky and see stars, sometimes they weren’t stars at all; they were satellites, or planets, or planes, and he questioned his vision and he questioned his brain.  But when he looked at Yamaguchi’s stars, he knew they were real, and they always would be, and they would shine for him when he most needed their guidance.  And when he allowed himself to stargaze on those tanned heavens, let himself be lost amongst those black holes, he felt full, and he felt right.

And he felt home.

And he wasn’t sure if Yamaguchi knew that he held the entire world in every breath he took, every smile he wore, every tear he cried.  But he did, and Tsukishima knew it, and that wasn’t enough, but stars are by definition luminous, and he would eventually see his own light, and Tsukishima only hoped that when he did, it would be reflected in his eyes as brightly as he saw the stars in Yamaguchi’s sky.


End file.
